


My King

by Ivillpunchyouinthethroat



Series: Hellverse [2]
Category: VIXX
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Hell Fic, King of Hell Ravi, M/M, Minor Blood and Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-01 18:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15149282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivillpunchyouinthethroat/pseuds/Ivillpunchyouinthethroat
Summary: The throne stood before them, splattered in the red-black gore of all the demons they had just slain.





	My King

**Author's Note:**

> Not exactly their first meeting, but the idea popped into my head and just wouldn't leave.

The throne stood before them, splattered in the red-black gore of all the demons they had just slain. Demons whose bodies now littered the floor; some corpses whole but bloated purple and sickly black—Hakyeon’s doing—some burnt to cinders and barely recognizable as corpses—Wonsik’s doing—and some…some in pieces, shredded with limbs torn and flung in all directions of the room.

And that was Taekwoon’s doing, Taekwoon and the icy knife sharp edges of his shadows.

Wonsik turned towards the Hellhound beside him, just in time to see the wriggling arms of those same shadows be drawn into the permanent one at Taekwoon’s back, no matter that there was no light bright enough in the dim lit throne room to cast one that present or deep or black. In fact it was only as the Hellhound’s shadow’s finally retracted that the lights flared up and the temperature went up with it, Wonsik’s still simmering tattoos only helping.

In the light of the once again bright room Wonsik was finally able to notice that much like the seat he would soon claim neither he nor Taekwoon had escaped the carnage unsullied.

The Hellhound was coated in blood, red streaks tinting his blonde hair scarlet, pale skin a mimicry of chiaroscuro artwork with the half dried blood splattering contrast on it. A look down at himself and he also knew that any inch of his own skin that was not covered in his tattoos was bathed in blood as well. A glance at Hakyeon was enough to know that—as Wonsik had expected—the strategist was the only one to have escaped the bloodbath, uniform immaculate and not a hair out of place—

Well, almost.

“Losing your touch, Hakyeon?” Wonsik joked as he gestured toward the right cuff of Hakyeon’s uniform.

Hakyeon brought the hand up, annoyance in his gaze to see the rip that extended just halfway up his forearm, the one detail to spoil his image. He turned back to Wonsik, the black streaks that still sprouted from his eyes only then starting to recede.

“Hardly,” Hakyeon responded, tone haughty, but amusement present in the faint curve of his lips nonetheless.

He let his hand drop and toed at half of a corpse in front of him, moving it out of his way with a mild look of disgust as he began walking forward. He gave one last disappointed look at the bodies surrounding them before he turned back to Wonsik and gave a coy smile, “and _they_ were hardly worth the effort really.”

Wonsik barked out a laugh even as moved to follow him. “Yeah,” he replied, “hardly.”

They’d only spent _hours_ in this throne room fighting the hordes upon hordes of nobles and their lackeys, not to mention the time they’d spent fighting their way _into_ the throne room in the first place.

He aimed another furtive glance at the silent Hellhound who kept wordless pace with him on their short walk to the throne.

Truth be told it was only due to the Hellhound that he and Hakyeon had even stood a chance, that they’d all three escaped this carnage relatively unscathed. Because while he and Hakyeon were damn fucking powerful in their own rights, Taekwoon—

Taekwoon was a king’s Hellhound and he possessed a speed and ferocity and a cold blooded cruelty that had literally ripped apart the demons that had lunged at them mid-air. Face impassive but eyes marble hard and shining in something like amusement as his torn enemies’ blood had rained down on him. And even if Wonsik had been deep in in his own writhing mass of demons to deal with, of the glimpses that he had managed of the Hellhound, Taekwoon had been _breathtaking_ to look at.

As if he could read his thoughts the Hellhound chose that moment to aim his coal black eyes his way and Wonsik found his gaze flicking down to a cut just below Taekwoon’s right eye, blood seeping from it his own and not from the countless other demons at their feet.

Taekwoon did not say a word, didn’t even change his expression, but his questioning was somehow apparent.

“Uh,” Wonsik began, lifting a hand on reflex only for it to stop awkwardly between them.

Taekwoon’s eyes were depthless, dark, and cold and dead and they held Wonsik captive in their gaze.

“You,” Wonsik gestured clumsily, “have a cut, it’s bleeding.”

An arm broke away from Taekwoon’s shadow and reached around to wipe at the blood, flicking itself clean when it was done before retreating. Taekwoon gave a small nod in Wonsik’s direction but nothing else.

Hakyeon clearing his throat called Wonsik’s attention away from the Hellhound and when Wonsik turned there was a genuine smile on the strategist’s face for once. “Your throne,” Hakyeon said, black streaks finally withdrawn enough to show the lightness of his eyes.

Wonsik looked up at the throne, at the seat carved from the very stone of the floor beneath them.

It was that simple, rustic hunk of fucking rock that he’d just slaughtered half of Hell’s court for.

It was the reason his own family had been slaughtered for.

He walked forward, lighting up his tattoos so that the worst of the blood soaking into the rock would evaporate as he neared and then he sat down, cool stone beginning to heat up under the lick of his flames.

He sat and let his flames grow further, throne going hot under his touch.

“Well, Hakyeon,” he finally said.

Hakyeon smile was softer this time as he laid a hand over his chest and gave a bow, “Like a true King, I…your father would be proud Wonsik.”

Wonsik smiled but it was tinged in bitter and he knew the ache of his father, of his family, would not soon fade—if it ever  really would—but Hakyeon was as close to family as he got now, and his words brought comfort even if they also brought sorrow.

“Well,” he said, acknowledging only Hakyeon’s first words, “not quite yet. If you would be so kind, Hakyeon.”

“Ah, yes,” the demon responded, unfolding from his bow, once again all business, “I suppose there is the matter of the blood ritual to take care of.”

Hakyeon walked up the few steps to the throne and stood in front of Wonsik, holding one hand out expectantly as the other unsheathed the never used dagger at his hip. Wonsik obediently held up his own hands, palms up.

“Just a prick,” Hakyeon teased as he sliced a gash upon each palm.

The strategists stepped back, dagger sheathed once more, and gave a nod.

Wonsik breathed once then slammed his bloodied palms onto the armrest of the throne underneath him.

“I am Wonsik sole descendant of the house of Kim,” he said voice reverberating throughout the blood spattered throne room, “and I claim the title of King by rights of combat. Any contestants to my claim have been slain by my and my followers’ hands. I offer now my blood for ownership of this throne and the power it contains.”

Wonsik’s last words echoed only briefly before the demon  jerked forward, palms now glued to the throne as it began sucking at his blood. He grit his teeth, pain lancing up his arms as it took more and more, a greedy beast as it gorged on his blood, the ruby liquid seeping through the rock and lighting it up with glowing veins. And suddenly the veins were not just glowing but alight with a fire of their own. They sprouted tendrils of flame that quickly raced over Wonsik’s skin, thin lines of fire that left behind newly singed tattoos in their wake as Wonsik struggled not to scream. The fire traveled over his entire body, new tattoos being born until his body was _covered_ in the thin black lines.

It was _agony,_ a piercing pain from all angles until with a shout and one final, brutal, scorching heat that burned through even Wonsik’s skin, it released him. Hissing, he snatched his hands back, the gashes on them now seared closed.

He was left panting, looking at his palms, the cauterized wounds still smoking and he already knew they would scar raised and ugly.

 _Good,_ he thought, as he fisted them, it was a reminder of how came to the throne, of all that had led him here.

He looked up and was met with an image of a darkly smirking Hakyeon and with a feral grin of his own he unleashed the brunt of his newfound power.

Fire leapt from every line of his tattoos, burning as ruby red as the blood he had given in exchange for it. It enveloped him and it was so much more power than Wonsik had ever felt before, it made the flames he’d once wielded seem like candlelight in comparison. There was heat at his head as a circlet of fire surrounded his temples.

His crown.

Simple, fitting.

He smiled again, savage, opening his mouth to speak only to be cut off.

“I have rendered my services,” **T** aekwoon interrupted, gaze steady as he gestured to the corpses around him, “I have complied to the terms of our agreement.”  

He stepped forward, back straight, chin held steady and then—

Then, the Hellhound bowed his head and his whisper soft voice turned almost…uncertain.

“I would ask…of the new King…”

But Wonsik would not have that, he had given his word.

He was demon, hell he was _The_ fucking demon now, but Hakyeon had been right, he had honor.

He extinguished his flames, suddenly nothing more that the lesser prince Taekwoon had first met and he stood up, made his way over. He laid a hand over the Hellhound’s chest and he said, “You are free.”

He lifted his hand, pulling with him the binding that had been etched into Taekwoon’s very blood, runes seeming to seep out of his skin and melt away into the floor. The Hellhound’s eyes flashed scarlet and his body followed the pull of Wonsik’s hand for a moment, standing on tiptoes, before the spell ripped away completely and he landed back on his soles. He brought a hand up just as he started to cough, drawing into himself with every violent spasm.

He coughed and coughed and in his hand spattered the old King’s blood that had been forced into his body when the bloodbinding had first been laid.

Wonsik stepped back towards his throne and watched as Taekwoon straightened, staring at the blood on his palm in pure disgust, the lines of the Hellhound’s usually placid features going hard on hatred. 

He looked back up towards him something expecting in his eyes.

So Wonsik only smiled, “You are free,” he repeated as he waved a hand and send a burst of fire to purge the blood on Taekwoon’s hands, careful that he did not so much as sting the Hellhound’s icy skin.

Taekwoon stared at his now clean palm for a long moment and then, to Wonsik’s complete surprise, he looked up and—

Gave the closest thing to a smile Wonsik had ever seen on the Hellhounds lips, pink corners faintly upturned.

Then, to Wonsik’s further surprise, he brought the very same hand he’d coughed into to his chest and kneeled down on one knee.

“I hear the King of Hell is need of a Hellhound,” he said, tone lighter than Wonsik had ever heard it.

“So it would seem,” he replied, easy smile on his own face.

“I offer a Helhound’s contract for my services, freely.”

“No contract is needed,” Wonsik was quick to respond. The Hellhound had been bonded against his will once before already, he would not give him another contract now, even if it was not a bloodbinding, even if it was what was expected of him as the new King. “I need only your word.”

Taekwoon looked up, dark coal eyes glinting in the reflected light of the room.

“You would not seek a contract, you would trust the word of a demon who betrayed his former king _.”_

“He was no king, and you trusted my own, Taekwoon.”

The Hellhound looked at him, bottomless eyes boring into his own, searching.

“Leo,” the Hellhound said suddenly, the crinkle at his eyes only complimenting the even bigger upturn of his lips, “you may call me Leo.”

“Leo,” Wonsik said smile growing wider, probably stupidly so as he tested the feel of the name on his tongue. “Then as a King’s Hellhound I trust to you the safety and will of your King.”

Taekwoon bowed deeper.

“Of course, my King.”

**Author's Note:**

> Up next, either Wontaek's actual first meeting _or_ we meet Hyogie and the Bean.
> 
> Preferences anyone?


End file.
